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When i Was Young...

When I was young I used to listen to the radio and thought the blue skies reflected the oceans. The old transistor used to sit on the ledge of the tractor-like weaving loom. The rhythmic sound of my mother’s weaving sounds used to provide the canvas from which echoed those old Bollywood classics, still audible in black and white. When I was young the world looked so huge and intriguing- that it was both round and flat was confusing. The Tata and Ashok Leyland trucks plying the Phuentsholing-Thimphu road used to mesmerize me. I’d sit in the compound of the Phuentsholing Department of Wireless colony and watch those fascinating machines trudging up the twists and turns in what was known as the “Saat Gumti” (Seven Turns). The helicopters were to die for. And the fighter jet planes just left us dumbfounded and (I’m not gonna mention the trains in Hashimara; they were “The Ultimate Treat!”). When I was young I was happy and the world seemed a happy place. All the kids in my neighborhood were happy as were the kids in my school. We were happy because we were young and money did not carry a price tag on it and neither was it laden with morality or class.

When I was young it seemed everyone had the same things; nothing less, nothing more and the world outdoors was our playground and everything in it became toys we played with. When I was young my king was my hero and I wanted to be like him and walk like him and talk like him and play basketball and archery like him. When I was young Bruce Lee was kicking ass and everyone wanted to do the chop-chops along with the “Nunchuku” and the “Meow”. Then we heard of Pele and Muhammad Ali and Maradona and Superman, together with Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”, Mithun Chakraborty’s “Disco Dancer” and of course, Amitabh Bachchan’s “I’m the perpetual angry young man” movies. It was a phased of epic confusions. I had a tough time figuring out who I really wanted to be: and everything about them was real. Superman could really fly. Pele and Maradona could score goals without kicking a ball. Michael Jackson was a Moon-Walker and Mithun Chakraborty was the one and only Disco Dancer. And Amitabh Bachchan started fighting all kinds of injustice single handedly and could do no wrong. Every time he died I cried. Then came Iron Mike Tyson and I wanted to box. \Those were tough days. Discovering the magic of the movies made me envious of “Gate Keepers”- with that powerful “Torch Light” and the license to walk in and out of cinema halls at will! But then I also wanted to become the “Truck Driver” who lived in a house on wheels that was mobile. Then one day I saw the spinning “Globe” in my father’s office and I wanted to travel the world. Then the old radio played again and I heard a woman tell a story in a beautiful voice. It made me wanna become a “Radio Story Teller”. When boarding school came, I wrote letters to kill the boredom and decided that that was what I wanted to do- become a “Letter Writer”.

When college came, everything changed. I became a “Dharma Bum” with a passion for Bob Dylan and the Folk-Rock-Blues. With that I discovered “Drugs” and I wanted to become “Jim Morrison”. I guess I became a bit of everything. Now that I’m older, I realize I was so much younger and happier then. I’m older and sadder then that now. In the end, when I was young, we didn’t have much of anything but neither did we feel the lack of it for there existed nothing to make comparisons. Everyone seemed younger and happier when I was young and that has not changed. Many have passed on and crossed over, but the memories linger and they linger with a sweetness that comes from knowing what I now know. That life is ephemeral; it’s really a rainbow and really, who does not smile at a rainbow or for that matter, an Atsara in a Tsechu?

When I was young, the world was fresh. Now that time and gravitas keeps sagging the chin, I guess the challenge is to keep refreshing that look of wonder and bewilderment. In conclusion, if there be such a thing, when I was young I had a wonderful father. Now that I’m a father, I’d like my son to be just like that- be young and enjoy that youthfulness as my father let me; the discovery and the curiosity. For though it killed the cat, don’t forget that satisfaction brought him back! Now if you see, let them be, for the prodigal child always returns. Five Things I Learnt In Life: 1) There’s Always More To Learn 2) Quote But Live Upon Them 3) Whatever You Do; Do It With All Your Heart and All Your Gut 4) The Present Is Now- That’s Why It’s Called a Gift 5) Growing Old Is Natural; Growing Up Is Optional

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Loving Vanity

Spend the day going to bed at dawn (as an evening of films beginning with Dances with Wolves was followed up by an automatic-switchover to The Silence of the Lambs before the credits could even roll – a feat made possible by the Made in China DVDs that come with well intentioned-titillating titles. This one was called “Last Century of 46 Greatest Movies” or 46 in 1 as it’s chipped). That immediately gave way to Hannibal before I could even say “… and I ate his liver with some fava beans over a nice glass of Chianti.” But it was nice nonetheless, to continue on with the fine dining tastes of the charming doctor as the film’s so engrossing you wonder what’s gonna happen to the shrink Dr Lecter’s tailing after the Lambs go home.
The evening in my apartment had become a midnight run as Lt John J Dunbar slowly but surely transforms into Dances with Wolves, starts to speak like the Sioux and begins to look like one. By the time Special Agent Starling makes her debut with Dr Hannibal Lecter and Buffalo Bill, the night had stretched until I was caught up between the changing faint lights outside the Mipham windows and the nefariously methodical wits about Hannibal.

When the second installment rolled on its own and ended with the doctor flying in a plane with a pre-packed lunch of the Justice Department’s Spokesman’s brains, the corn-pussy loving Paul Krender, I drifted off to a sleep of my own where the doctor was back in all his mental, verbal and incisive glory – surgically removing layers of confusion to interested students to the simplicity of doing what he does best, eating rude people.

So when I did get up, dare I say I felt a bit like the upright doctor. A late visit to the Ambient Café, a cappuccino upped by a pot of masala chai and the rudimentary visit to check the emails and statuses on the F book. The slow Internet was a turnoff, together with a feeling of stupidity when glancing around to see most shops had closed. What was it? Figured out it was the Descending Day of Lord Buddha (there is no ascending day, for the record). Have I been turning atheist lately? The self-interrogation began. It felt odd that I hadn’t a clue to what is a holy and sacred day here in Bhutan. Anyhow, Buddha came to mind and with that, mindfulness and impermanence.

We went to the 8-11 grocery, picking up a Highland Whiskey for the mates that were gonna drop in later to stretch the Uzu-Wrong-Pa jokes (and this time I’d readied myself on taking them head to head with Girling-Pas). I placed the whiskey at the check out counter and there it was, the trusted-homeopathic Indian vanity brand called “Parachute” – infamous for its flying parachute hair oils. This was a real tempter - a stylish-silvered bottle with the captions “Hair Revitalizer”. I picked up the bottle, a tad unconvinced and proceeded to read the rest of the labels: “hair fall is caused by stress, bad diet, sleeping disorders, depression etc.,” yes! Sounded just like me! The product had me here but it was further cemented by what the Parachute could do “use it 2-3 times a week. Massage the scalp thoroughly and in 42 days, see the difference!” I couldn’t believe it! Only 42 days and I was gonna be Samson again. You see, I’d given up on the nail-to-nail polishing as it looked more than a tad OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) and the fresh and raw ginger rub on the head was just too dusty and uncivilized. I looked at the MRP and it was a reasonable Nu 180. So I parachuted out of the 8-11 with this newfound resolution to an age-old problem as natural as ageing. But then again we love fighting the natural order of things. I don’t know what is what anymore but if anything, I guess I wanted the balding process to halt a while and keep it pausing there.
Its like what the Pacino character tells the young lawyer in “The Devil’s Advocate” – “Vanity – I Love It.”

Happy Birthday!

Dear Mipham,
Jesus! Time does fly is an expression adults (SO CALLED) often use to illustrate the bewilderment of life and its assorted vicissitudes….I was thinking the same thing for a pretty long time…and today it seems that much more in context and in its urgency. But I go through this every September the 18th, ‘cos that was the day you chose to make your entrance onto this stage we call life.
Imagine! The inception of the whole conception! During my Dharma Bum days I’d read and had my share of the wisdom memorabilia that is the unsaid pre-requisite to becoming a wholly and fully fledged Dharma Bum. It brought me no Nirvana and neither do I understand what Samsara is (I know it’s a good film made by an Indian with Tibetan/Ladaki actors) but beyond that wrapper? I’ll confess I’m clueless…
But the point was the passage of time and how time just flies even though you don’t see it…although paradoxically we do see it all around us; the changing days and nights to the changing seasons and transformers. For me, you are probably the best example of the passage of time, as I’m to my mother.
There used to be this idea in my head and its till there…on occasion I’d tell you this little fictional anecdote about how you, among a billion other probable Miphams, managed to out-fox and out-swim them all to get to where you now stand today – a lovely boy who’ll soon be a teen, do the school and the college and find your own warm spot on god’s beautiful earth.
“The boy is the father of man” is another expression that I find absolutely confounding! But its life’s ways and means of taunting and teasing us I guess…irony being its punchiest sense of humor!
I’m sitting in my office…haven’t had a bite and did a couple of flashes of whisky last night…you see, it was the first day of Thimphu Tsechu (those colorful festivals held in honor of the Guru’s teachings and to further the fruition of the practice of the Dharma practitioners). It was also Vishwa Karma Puja, another festival held in honor of one of the Hindu Gods. I got up this morning knowing you were still asleep (Bhutan is +5hrs ahead). The devotees of the Hindu Gods today take to the streams and rivers to immerse the idol, concluding the worship and the ceremony…and as they go about the immersion procedure, they get into big open trucks holding the idols and singing in the lord’s glory … It was almost a chant of “Happy Birthday to you Mipham” to my ears….
The tsechu goes on for another three days…today’s day two and the dances of the Dharma are in full swing. People dress in their best and still I associate that with your birthday; a celebration of sorts…and to any other person that shares your birthday today, this day of joyous contemplation and rejuvenation.
Birthdays were not a big deal with me and my generation…but I can see and sense rebirth and reincarnation, and perhaps that’s what birthdays actually do or should do…
Look at me! IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY and I’m already reincarnating into a lovable-loathsome-philosopher-dad and that’s because you have made me remember many things I’d forgotten…
But there’s one thing I’ll never forget, and that’s you making your entrance on this day, the 18th of September and as long as I’m alive, you’ll have given me so much just because you are here…and I pray that may every birthday bring you closer to a positive avatar, pausing and rejoicing and reincarnating unto higher realms of consciousness so that it looks and feels like the whole world is celebrating with you…may gods bless you and keep you…
all my love…